He presses the tiny button to rotate through the settings. And though the vibrator is very small and very quiet, I hear the whisper-soft hum of the pulses, then the increase in frequency as he sets it at maximum.

He slants a look at my face, and then he very slowly trails the tip of the pendant over the swell of my breast. The sensation is delicious, and I close my eyes, giving myself permission to simply float as he ministers to me.

The touch cuts through me, rousing me, but it is also relaxing, and I drift a bit, letting myself simply feel.

And then he ramps it up.

He moves the pendant in a spiral, as if drawing a series of decreasing circles on my breast. Getting closer and closer to my nipple, until finally the pendant edges up against my now-tight areola.

I am no longer drifting. Now I am on the verge of begging. Because the sensation has started to grow, and I am not sure that I can keep it all inside, and I am moving back and forth as much as I can with my arms and legs bound, as if by writhing and swaying I can somehow regain control over the riot of sensations inside me.

Of course I cannot. I have ceded that control, after all. I am in Jackson’s hands, and he is relentless, and I am wondering now about the wisdom of telling him to take me far. To take me hard.

Because so far, I am barely managing even this relatively mild touch. How will I survive a full-blown onslaught of sensuality?

He lifts the pendant now and then touches the tip ever so softly to my nipple, which is already so sensitive and tight that even this butterfly-kiss contact rockets to my cunt and—oh, dear god—I feel the tremors of a building orgasm rise through me, set off by nothing more than Jackson’s teasing of my breasts.

“Oh, yes,” he says, then very gently strokes his fingers over my sex. “I think someone likes this.”

I say nothing. But I do whimper a bit.

I hear him chuckle, and then he moves on, teasing my other breast similarly before easing the vibrator down my belly. I arch up, wanting both to escape the relentless sensation and to silently beg for it to continue.

When he reaches my pubis, he pauses, then lifts his head to look at me. It’s a challenge, I think, and I stay silent. Neither protesting nor begging, despite wanting to do both.

His small, smug grin suggests he knows exactly what I am thinking. My pubic hair is waxed into a thin landing strip, and he teases me by tracing the edge before finally trailing the tip of the vibrator around my clit. Close, but not on the most sensitive part.

I writhe, testing my bonds, needing to escape or control this growing, wild sensation. But I am bound and there is no escape. There is only submission. And excitement. And pleasure so keen it is disguised as pain.

“Please.” It is the only word that means anything. “Please.”

But he doesn’t listen. He torments me for another minute, an hour, a year. Until finally—finally—he brushes the tip of the vibrator over the sensitive tip of my clit and I explode as a knife edge of pleasure slices through me, cutting me to ribbons and then sending those shards up into the sky, higher and higher until I finally, blissfully, fall back to earth, my body still tingling. Still hyperaware.

“Oh, god, oh, Jackson.”

I am still trapped, and I struggle against the bonds, wanting to touch him, but he is having none of that.

He strips quickly, and he’s so hard that I think his erection must be painful. “Hard, you said? You want to be fucked hard?”

“Yes.” I buck my hips. “God yes, please.”

He doesn’t disappoint. He slams into me, and I am so wet and aroused that he enters me fully in one deep, amazing thrust. Over and over, his body pounds into mine, and the friction on my still sensitive clit sends me spiraling up over and over—one, two, twelve, a million—I have no idea how many times I come, but I seem to be nothing more than an explosion of light and sparks. No longer myself, but simply pure pleasure.

And when I finally do drift back to earth—when he unties me and pulls me close—I realize that he did exactly what he promised. He took me somewhere I have never been. And in doing it, gave me the most profound sexual experience of my life.

“That was wonderful,” I say, though the word sounds weak. “Profound. Life-changing. A religious experience.”

He laughs. “That is very good to know.” The vibrator necklace is on the mattress beside us and now he picks it up and puts it back over my head. “And I have to say, I very much like you wearing this.”

I raise a brow as I trail my finger over the delicate chain and down to the pendant. “Like a slave collar.”

His eyes widen just a bit. “And what would you know about that?”